Vanished
by Pockychu
Summary: What do you have when you have nothing at all?
1. Pitiful Prologue

Life had never been much of an important thing to me. I don't think it would be for someone who dies _every fucking day._

Some say it's a curse, that I should go to church more often to try to get rid of it, and some say it's a blessing and that I should appreciate it more.

Don't believe what they tell you. Take it from someone who's experienced it; it's a **curse, **but the day I'll start going to church regularly will be the day when hell freezes over, pigs fly, God turns out to be an evil satanic bastard, when world peace happens, _and _when Cartman loses 100 lbs and is tolerant and friendly to all races and religions. But even then I wouldn't do it anyway. I'd be too shocked to move.

There wasn't really much to look forward to in my life either.

Yeah there was my so called family, but shit, do you really think living with a drunken deadbeat father, a stupid, suck up brother, and a whiny bitch-ass mom is so fucking fantastic? I didn't think so. If you did, then by all means, you can have them.

There were my friends... I guess. Stan wasn't much of my friend. Sure, he came to all of my funerals, and he did that stupid "oh my god they killed Kenny" thing in an attempt to show that he cared, but he didn't. Not one bit. And then Cartman is pretty self-explanatory. That son-of-a-bitch is going to end up cold and alone when he grows up. Probably going to adopt a bunch of cats. And Butters? You're kidding me, right?

And there was _Kyle._ The one nice thing in my life.

I was always the bravest one.

The first one to lose his virginity? Me. First one to try drugs? You're lookin' at the boy who has the largest illegal drug collection in all of South Park. The first one to sacrifice his life in order to save the world from two million years of darkness? Take a motherfucking guess. In fact, I've sacrificed myself in order to restore power to a hospital that had been snowed in, saving the lives of everyone inside, I died to save the world from 2 million years of Satan's reign, I died to save the Jews, and I died so that I could command God's armies in Heaven and I saved the universe from evil.

But does poor old Kenny McCormick get appreciation? Gratitude? Millions of thanks from all of humanity?

No.

That's because Kenny McCormick is a lowlife, scrawny, poor, ugly, weird, friendless, perverted, dumb, heedless, redneck scum with the drunk father that beats him everyday. That's what everyone in this entire hick town says.

Except Kyle.

I hope you're wondering how I got my magical resurrection power. Too fucking bad if you aren't, you're gonna hear how either way.

I was 5 at the time. Just your average, naive Preschooler. Back then I was still normal ol' Kenny. I didn't die all the time, and I didn't rise from the dead all the time. Those were the good ol' days.

I had to wait a whole year before I could actually get into school. Yeah, I'm older than anyone else. Nobody could tell though, because _nobody cared._

Heh, I remember my first day of Preschool as if it were yesterday. Miss Claridge was such a nice lady. Plus she was hot. If I had been as perverted as I were now, I would've had my way with her already. Nah, just kidding, but she was pretty hot. Anyway, that was the day I met Kyle, Stan, and Eric. And Butters, but who gives a crap. Eric was actually kind of nice back then. Sure he was fat, but he made up for it with his coolness. Stan was just plain old...Stan. Not much different from now. And Kyle was as sweet as ever. We were a big hit. I think people liked me back then. I hope they did. I was on top of the world that day. I couldn't wish for anything better. I'd never made any friends until then. Silly me.

Y'know that feeling when you make your first friends? That fuzzy, safe one you get in your heart. It's nothing like love, though. Not at all.

Well, I went home that night, ate my waffles, and headed right to bed.

That night I had a dream. One that I should have taken far more seriously. I know several people who deserved that dream more than me, namely Kyle, but I guess I was "The Chosen One" or something. I dunno.

I was visited by **THE** God. That's right, motherfuckers, the one and only lord and savior visited me in my dreams. And guess what?

He offered to grant my hearts' greatest desire.

Being the silly child I was, I was too giggly and dazzled to answer straight. I doubted it was real, so I gave a ridiculous answer.

But it was real. It was real, and I was going to make the biggest mistake in my entire life.

I told him I wanted to live forever. To be impervious to anything, living or non-living, that might want to hurt me.

And so it happened. I was invincible. I was... what I am now, I guess. Bullies like Trent Boyett could beat the living crap out of me, and I'd be as good as new. That's how I got him to respect me and my friends. I'm such an awesome friend.

I don't think I could've been happier.. I was unbreakable. I had people in my life I could call my friends. School was going great, I had the class bully on my side, and I was voted the most popular and cutest kid in Preschool. Life wasn't so bad after all. For once in my life...I was glad.

Sadly, that happiness didn't last long. I was at Eric's house, watching Terrance and Phillip with him and Stan. Kyle had caught the flu, so he was at home resting. The phone rang, and Stan went downstairs to answer it. He came back up, his eyes and cheeks saturated with tears.

"K-Kyle's going to...die."

Shocked and baffled, I ran out the room and out the door without saying a word. It wasn't until I got home that I burst into tears. Everything sucked. Life sucked. The common moral, "You don't know what you have until it's gone" was repeated over and over again in my head. but it was true. I didn't ever notice it until then.

I was nothing without Kyle.

Eric didn't care. He had already turned into a neo-Nazi by then. He laughed his head off, claiming that Kyle deserved it for being a Jew. I punched him in the face. Hard.

Stan sent flowers and cried in his room, because that bitch couldn't even put off his phobia for hospitals to see his "best friend." Everyone felt sorry for him. I didn't.

I wanted to die with him, but I couldn't. I couldn't waste my days moping like Stan. Kyle needed me right now. I visited him everyday. I sat next to his bed and read him stories and talked to him about things not involving Stan or Cartman. I didn't bring him flowers. I couldn't find (or afford) any flowers that were as beautiful as him. I didn't cry, and he appreciated it. That's when I started to fall for him, because I realized... it was only Kyle that ever gave a crap about me.

_He_ was the one that lent me all money for my sick porn habits. _He _was the one that sat next to my smelly old bed in my smelly old room and fed me chicken noodle soup. _He _was the one that meant more to me than anything else in the world.

And so I prayed. I prayed for the first time in my life. Believe me, it was awkward apologizing to God for never ever talking to him or visiting his "temple". It was even more so when I sat there and begged, practically forced him to keep Kyle alive. To somehow transfer my inhumane powers to him. Hell, I even offered my own life in exchange for his, because I was only poor old Kenny McCormick. Kyle was more important than me. As long as he was well and alive.

Well, it happened. Kyle was alive. There was a one in a trillion chance that he would live, and he did. When the doctors were bedazzled by the results, I stood there, smiling a goofy ear-to-ear smile. It worked. Kyle was going to be okay, and I still had my invincibility shit.

I was a smart kid. I figured, if God could grant two of my wishes, he must be able to grant more. And he did. Immediately, I got free toys, candy, and other useless things. People would be confused, wondering how a kid as poor as me could manage to get all these things.

I was turning into a monster, and God was getting pretty pissed off.

So one night, whilst asking him for _another_ Nintendo DSi, he snapped, and before I could say "Titty Sprinkles", guess the fuck what.

The sonovabitch cursed me.

He killed me. But I wasn't really dead, and yet I was. (I know. I don't even get it now.) Death would follow me where ever I went, but only _I'd _get hurt. Every time I died, however, he would resurrect me. Kind of like being invincible, 'cept more complicated. I stood there looking at him like a retard, and he left. I had no fucking clue what the fuck he meant, but I didn't think much of it. In fact, I thought it might have been fun.

Not even close.

I don't remember how I died the first time...I think I was crushed by some kind of animal or what, I dunno, but people were _freaked the fuck out._ "HOLY SHIT, IT KILLED KENNY!" Stan would say, horrified. I think he meant it that time. "Y-You bastards..." was Kyle's whimpered reply. Imagine the commotion when people found out _KENNY, _the invincible kid, died. I think everyone came to my funeral that day. Everyone cried, especially Kyle, and fuck, I was given enough flowers to last me until I was a thousand years old.

I came back that next day. In Kyle Broflovski's bedroom. In his bed. Next to him. (Dream come true, amirite?)

And that's how it started. The day after that, I was killed by a truck. Less people came. Then later, even less. Then finally, nobody. I wasn't even getting funerals anymore, (which I greatly appreciated. Un-burying yourself is a pain in the ass,) and I lost my fame. My popularity. My respect. I quickly became Kenny McCormick...

The failure.


	2. A perilous suicide for a perilous boy

It started to sort of slow down after a while. My death, I mean.

At first, I was ecstatic to be able to be spared a few days between my horrible deaths. I was joyous when it turned to weeks. Then months. And after a year or two of being perfectly accident-free, I started to get worried.

Our school is split up into four groups. Populars, Bullies, Goths, and Losers.

A.K.A Stan, Cartman, Kenny, and Kyle.

That's what our group used to consist of. Stan left the group, or what was left of it. It wasn't me or Kyle or Cartman or anything. Okay maybe it was. We became losers once Freshman year started. "I'm a jock. Jock's can't hang around...un-popular kids like you guys. I need to hang out with the popular kids, like Craig or Bebe and shit. Sorry?" was his pathetic excuse for abandoning us. I think he offered to take Kyle with him, but Cartman and I couldn't go. Not with our reputations.

Stan lost his two front teeth that day. I hope he never gets them back.

Cartman left, obviously to the "Bullies" section of school. He was still pretty cool to me, I guess. We were always automatically grouped together as "Best Friends" because Kyle and Stan are "Super Best Friends." I'm sorry, I meant _ex_-Super Best Friends.

So basically, the losers group consists of Kyle and I. I'm perfectly fine with that.

We started out as friends, like we were before. Then Best Friends. Then Super Best friends. Then, what most people would classify as "just plain gay."

We held hands. We hugged. We slept with each other, sometimes nude. But we weren't gay. Just super super super duper best friends. At least, I think we weren't.

I correct; _He_ wasn't gay, I think. Yes, I was gay. Not for any guy though. I still appreciated some fine Bebe boobs over some random dick. Unless it was his.

_Kyles'. Kyle Broflovskis'._

I loved him. I still do. More than anything else in the world. More than porn, or Bebes' tits, or getting high, or sex, or even life itself.

I could just hope to God that he loved me back. I mean, I hope to whatever-Atheists-believe-in. I kind of lost my faith in God after the incident.

Everyday, no fuck that, every _second_ that I was dying from my broken life in my broken bed in my broken home in my broken world with my broken dreams with my oh-so-perfect and amazing and beautiful and smart Kyle Broflovski, I just loved him more and more and more...and even more.

He would sit there and we would make out passionately and fuck until the day leaves and comes back more times than I know how to count to.

But that is a lie, because you can't trust me because I'm Kenny McCormick, the loser.

Instead, he would sit there. And hold my hand. And feed me. And talk to me and sing to me and sleep next to me and hug me and check my pulse and read to me and check my temperature and kiss my cheek and wipe my tears and snuggle, then quickly retreat to sitting there and apologizing and cry for me and more things than I could ever think about doing for him. He knew I was dying. I knew I was dying. I just didn't expect it to come so soon. He told me he'd get into Harvard or Yale or some fancy-pantsy University I don't know about and buy us a playboy (I could've sworn he said playgirl) mansion and he'll get a room just for me and hire Bebe Stevens as my personal whore and he'll look after me and take me away from this ghetto of a place. I knew he didn't like the idea of Bebe Stevens being my personal whore, but it's the thought that counts.

I fell for him. So hard, it hurt, because I knew even if Kyle _did_ somehow manage to find a strange attraction to me, I couldn't accept it. I just couldn't. I couldn't ruin his chances of becoming something helpful to the world by dragging him into this pitiful hell that I call life. I couldn't, but fuck, I wanted to.

My face started to pale, like a zombies', except even paler. Alice-blue eyes dulled to a grayish white. What had been my wild, sunshine-colored, un-tamable hair just sort of flopped like a dry, bleached mop. My voice was dry and raspy. I was a walking corpse.

One morning, after a night of small talk with the amazing _Kyle_, I woke up, feeling groggier than usual. I climbed out of my pathetic-excuse-for-a-bed and limped to the bathroom. The door was closed, which is unusual. Kyle and I are so close, we don't even bother closing doors anymore. A faint sound of sobbing bled through the door. I gently pushed it open, seeing you-know-who sitting in the bathtub, crying and holding a razor in his hand. "KYLE, WHAT THE FUCKING HELL ARE YOU DOING?" were the first words that came out of my mouth, as I grabbed the razor out of his hand. Bad idea. Blood laced my fingers as I cursed loudly into the small lavatory. He looked at me with the biggest, most beautiful eyes that I have ever seen and said between sobs:

"Kenny... You haven't had a pulse for 3 days. I think you're dying...for real this time."


	3. He's got the flavor but no followthrough

I was silent for a while. "Of course it's not for real. I'm gonna come back. I always come back. It's my thing." I said after thinking for a while. He looked at me, doubt obviously in his eyes.

"Don't you see Kenny?" He said, biting his lower lip as he tried not to cry, "You're dying. We both know it. And you're already dead..." Tears formed in his eyes again, and how I wished I could hold him in my arms and assure him everything would be okay, like he did for me. How I longed for him to look up at me with love in his eyes and as he kissed my lips we would make sweet love and I would be so happy, and he would be so happy, and I don't die and we get married and we adopt children and grow old together and die in each other's arms like a cheesy love fi-

"Kenny!"

My thoughts were interrupted when Kyle screamed out my name. I think he had been for quite a while now. His eyes were puffy and red like those of a manga character, and his nose was moving faster than a rabbits'. "Fuck, Kenny...I thought you died. I thought you died and I was just about to cry but you're alive...oh thank Moses, you're alive."

We sat in silence for quite a while. My legs were getting cramped. Finally, he broke the ice by uttering my name.

"Yes?"

He looked at me and glanced down. "H-how do you feel about me?"

My heart thumped and I looked at him. Might as well tell him now. I'm dying soon anyway.

"You really want to know?" He nodded.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

"Well, whenever I see you, my heart does a funny little dance, like it's on drugs, because can't you see Kyle? YOU ARE MY DRUG. I love you..." I paused. He motioned for me to continue.

"Kyle, and whenever you sit next to me in my broken little bed on my broken rug in my broken room inside of my broken home residing in my broken town in my broken world in my broken universe filled with my broken dreams, and your beautiful, amazing, oh-so-perfect face that smells of...you...brights it up and makes everything okay, my dreams aren't so broken in my not-so-broken-universe with my not-so-broken world. Love doesn't even describe how much I feel and I am so gay for you that I shit rainbow colored shit and eat unicorn hairs and wear those motherfucking hipster scarves, but only for you." I took a breath. He stared.

"Kyle...to answer your question..._Iloveyou_ **sososososososo** much and _please_ don't break my heart by telling me I'm just wasting my time."

Silence.

Finally, he stood, he wiped away his tears, and headed for the door. Before he left, he uttered the last words I'd ever hear anyone say:

"I'm sorry, Kenny. I can't."

**Bam**! I'm dead.


	4. What you have when you have nothing

Well here I am, I guess. I'm dead, or I think I am, or maybe I'm not. Fuck, this could be a dream, for all I know, and Kyle didn't break my heart.

Oh what am I kidding myself for. I am, this isn't, and he did, and it hurt like his mom.

I've been lying here for hours, and I'm not in Heaven nor am I in Hell. Did it finally happen? Did Kenny motherfucking McCormick _finally _die? I hope so. It can be annoying living forever. It really cuts into my social life...what am I saying? I don't have a social life, I don't have a social anything, other than Kyle.

I wonder if people know that I'm not coming back? I wonder if people care? I wonder if people will miss me? I wonder what Kyle's doing... It hasn't been a day and I'm already missing him. I'm pathetic, aren't I? Somebody shoot me-oh wait, shit, I'm already dead.

I'm bored. This sucks. I can't do anything, 'cuz I'm dead. I should like, stalk Kyle or something. That would be fucking sweet. Maybe I could catch him... oh shit I think I have a nosebleed. Just kidding, because I'm dead. Dead people don't bleed through their noses, but dead people don't lust over girly, curly, red-headed Jews **(A/N: THAT'S RIGHT. A GIRLY, CURLY, RED-HEADED JEW.)** either.

Huh, what's that? A dim light can be seen in a faraway distance. It's only the bathroom, how the hell did it get so dark? It flashes. My curiosity gets the better of me, and I crawl towards it, as fast as my scrawny little arms can take me. It flashes again. Brighter this time, forcing me to shut my eyes tightly from the unexpected brightness, but it still manages to get into the unwanted cracks of my eyelids. What the fuck is going on? Am I finally leaving? Fuck no, I didn't even get to stalk Kyle yet! Suddenly, I feel my body being thrust forward, as if a powerful force is dragging me towards the white light. Strangely enough, it's actually a nice, feathery feeling-not rough or demanding-taking me there at a calm pace. Then it clicks. A bright light after hours of pure nothingness? I guess this means I'm going to-

Woah!

Suddenly, my mind goes foggy and I'm forced out of wherever the hell I was just in. My vision goes foggy and I'm seeing doubles. Everything seems so bright in contrast to the dim place I just left. Am I in heaven? I hope not, I'd miss Damien. Urrgh, I think I've gone blind.

Wait, wait, I got it. Yeah, I'm not blind, in fact, I see..People? My so-called "friends." I look around, trying to identify the area I'm in. Oh, whoopee. It's my fucking funeral. What a fan-fucking-tastic place to be.

I think I'm going to cry.

I see Stan and Wendy. Making out in the back. That fucking "lovesick" couple couldn't tell true love from a pop-tart. What they have is nothing compared to what Kyle and I have.

Sorry; What _I_ have for _Kyle_.

There's Eric. And then there's Butters...wait, why the hell is he here. I don't like Butters. He's more of a pussy than Stan. Eric's crying. Aww, how sweet. Poor Eric Theodore Cartman is mourning over the loss of his "best friend". Too fucking bad he didn't appreciate him while he was alive.

There's Craig, someone that I _would _hate with all my heart, but my heart's too busy devoting itself to _him. _I know, I suck.

And there's Kyle. I wish I lived to see the day he wore a tux. He looks...

Absolutely beautifully beautiful.

...Breathe in. ...Breathe out.

Oh, what am I doing, I can't do that. I keep forgetting. I'm dead.

I sit on top of my coffin, which is kind of funny, and watch as they, one-by-one, come up and give their cute little speeches about how much they'll miss me, which is the equivalent of how much they'd miss one of Clydes' crap tacos.

Stan and Wendy come up first. Stan mutters apologies and how much he'll miss me and more crap. Wendy stands there like the bitch she is, _clearly _not feeling him up. I swear, if they fuck on top of my coffin, I'm going to scream bloody murder. Or I would.

Then comes Craig. He stands there and flips me off. Gee, thanks a lot, Craig. I love you too?

But that's a lie, because I can't love anyone other than him.

Eric comes up and sniffles, Butters holding him up. Fags. Eric sobs about how much I was his best friend and, as if he wrote it down before, says the exact same things he said when I was in the hospital, dying, 8 years ago. It's funny how he manages to pull these things off, and it's funnier that I'm the only one who notices. Butters quickly says some stuff about how I'll always be in his heart and Eric's and how much they're going to miss me. Oh, fuck off Butters, you don't even know my last name.

Of course, no one does. Except Kyle.

And that's who comes next. I thought for sure he would say something similar to what Stan or Eric said. I really fucked it up, didn't I? But no, instead he leans down, and whispers words that sound better coming from his mouth than anyone else's.

"Kenny..." he mutters, biting on his lip as it was his habit.

"I love you too."

I sat there, awestruck by his word. Immediatly, however, I stand up, and scream soundless words.

Why Kyle? Why didn't you tell me? We could've been so happy, Kyle! We could've been like Stan and Wendy are, kissing in the hallways and such. We could've snuggled on the TV while we watched some shitty old vampire movie.

_...Why?_

My cheeks are soaked with inexistent tears. I hug him. I kiss him and hold him in my arms like I've always wanted to, and suddenly I'm alive again, and he carries me bridal style to his car and we drive away to his house and cuddle in his bed.

No, I lied, because I'm Kenny McCormick, the lovedrunk loser. I don't hug him, because my arms are non-existent, and my lips merely fade against his.

Because nothing will ever make this right again. Like I said, I keep forgetting,

_I'm dead._


End file.
